


Overdue

by Caveat_Lector



Series: Post-finale ficlets [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, M/M, Podfic Welcome, Post-Finale, references to cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 20:19:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6822481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caveat_Lector/pseuds/Caveat_Lector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will may have decided to leave his fate in Hannibal's hands, but that doesn't mean he wants Hannibal to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overdue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'overdue' [here](http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org/431059.html?thread=13709011#cmt13709011). Also fills my 'washing/cleaning' square for Kink Bingo.

It's been hours since they washed ashore, long enough for the sun to rise and dry their shirts into crackling against their skin. Will thinks the day must be almost over when the black dot he's been squinting at transforms into the sleek white hull of a boat heading directly for them.

Will lifts his head up from where it rests on Hannibal's leg until he can look at it straight on.

"Is that--?"

It can't be. But Hannibal's mouth twitches into a brief smile.

Will is almost as intimately familiar with the shape of that hull as he is his own flesh. It almost _is_ his own flesh. 

He's probably spent more time with his hands on it.

"That's..."

"What can I say?" Hannibal pulls himself to his feet, looking down at his ruined clothes and the fresh bloodstains creeping through again now he's moved. "Chiyoh is very resourceful."

"Oh well, _Chiyoh_ ," Will grumbles, taking the hand Hannibal offers. If he has to face Chiyoh then he prefers to be on his feet. His left leg won't take much weight, but Hannibal is a solid support that he can let himself lean into, given the circumstances.

 

Chiyoh expresses no surprise to see Will waiting with Hannibal on the shore. There's no sign of either pleasure or distaste in her expression as they follow her aboard, no indication that she takes any note of him at all. Her attention is as dangerous as Hannibal's in its own way, but the intended slight still rankles.

In the boat's small cabin, Hannibal takes the chair. His eyes close, and Will can see the lines of pain etched into his face now. It only leaves the bed for Will; bare, no sheets and he'll _ruin_ it with blood and sand, but he has no choice. He lurches sideways, making an inelegant landing that leaves his face smashed against the mattress.

"Ow," he says, when he has the breath.

"Tend to Will," Hannibal tells Chiyoh when she brings the medical kit to his side. 

"Don't--" Will coughs, pain shooting through him as he attempts a more dignified position on the bed. "Don't be ridiculous. You were shot."

"I didn't lose consciousness."

Of course he didn't. A wave of nausea rumbles through him, and Will focuses on the pain, on the slant of Hannibal's cheekbone, on the last, late rays of light slicing across the cabin floorboards. By the time it recedes, Chiyoh is holding up a bullet.

"Spoke too soon?" Will rasps out. Hannibal is still, his profile softened by the tilt of his head towards Will, as if he had felt the need to anchor himself too. His eyes are closed, as far as Will can see.

"He is still with us." Chiyoh packs the wound, briskly enough to make Will wince. "I think he would prefer not to leave us alone."

"Planning to throw me off the boat?"

A knife glints in her hand, but he couldn't move out of the way if he wanted to. It's cold against his skin as she cuts away his shirt.

"I am not so merciful," she says, and sets to work.

 

He wakes to a room streaked with sunlight and heading who knows where. His body curls towards the weight that dips the mattress at his side; he doesn′t even try to stop it.

″Can you move?″

Hannibal's back is broad and strong, streaked with blood around the gauze pads and tape. There′s the shadow of a bruise on his hip, and--

He′s not wearing any clothing, Will realises.

″We can′t use the shower,″ Hannibal says, turning a battered smile to Will. ″Scrub my back?″

The shower room is cramped, and Will has never been in such close proximity to a naked male body. Certainly not an adult one. A well-developed, naked, male adult body.

Even with his scars and bandages, and with deeper lines of exhaustion visible with every glance, Hannibal exudes power, grace, and strength.

Hannibal helps Will with his belt, but he hesitates with his hands on Will′s shorts until he shrugs.

″It occurs to me,″ Will says, stepping out of them, ″that you must have seen a lot of naked men.″

Hannibal pauses, then gathers the intact pieces of clothing in a neat pile. ″You′re not talking about sex.″

″I′m not talking _just_ about sex,″ Will clarifies. There′s no point in pretending now that he has no idea of Hannibal's interest in him. Hannibal acknowledges this with a twitch of his lips. ″Or surgery.″

″It′s something you hadn′t thought about before.″

″Not in this way, no.″ Will watches as Hannibal wrings out a washcloth. It′s pleasantly warm when Hannibal touches it to his shoulder, wipes gently across his chest. ″Pass me one of those.″

Hannibal does, and Will wraps it around his hand. Arms seem like the safest place to start, so he starts with the bruise he saw earlier instead, curls his hand around Hannibal's hip. He′s rewarded with Hannibal's eyes widening; Will can still surprise him, then. The skin′s pinkness turns to blood on the cloth, but the bruise is real, and, he realises, fits perfectly in the span of his hand.

″Did I--?″ he starts, but he thinks he remembers now. His arms ripped from Hannibal by the weight of the water, his frantic grab to find him, hold onto him. ″I did.″ 

″I′m glad,″ Hannibal says. ″I should not have liked to lose you.″

Will can′t be seduced by the tenderness in his voice. He won′t be. He blinks away the tears prickling at his eyes. He might have surrendered himself to Hannibal, but he can′t let Hannibal know he′s won already.

″Not before I did this, in any case.″

Hannibal's lips are softer than he expected. Still firm, confident, like the hand resting at the back of his head, but the kiss is somehow soft and sweet. Will wants to laugh at himself for that.

″Well. That was long overdue.″

″I′m glad you agree.″

He can′t help but return Hannibal's smile. But he cannot be seduced by this. He _can′t_.

Not if he wants to survive.

″Did you wash them?″ Will steps closer, close enough for him to reach Hannibal's back, his buttocks. His hip grazes Hannibal's cock, but it doesn′t seem like that much of a big deal in the circumstances. ″You′d need a bath.″

″If I was taking flesh - of course.″

″You′d know all their secrets.″ Will navigates the bandages on Hannibal's back carefully with the washcloth. ″If they drank too much. If they didn′t bother to change their underwear.″

″Will.″ Hannibal takes the cloth from Will and presses another into his hand. He holds on until Will looks up at him. ″You′re not meat to me.″

Will slides the fresh cloth down to where Hannibal's cock is still lightly brushing against him. He gives it a passing squeeze, but continues down to his real goal. To his credit, Hannibal doesn′t even flinch when Will curls his fingers around his balls.

Will thinks of Hannibal whole and healthy. He knows what Hannibal wants from him. He doesn′t know if he would mind. Even in his current state, there′s a thrill in being this close to Hannibal, a deep throb in his guts that makes him wonder what it would be like to have all the strength and power of Hannibal inside him.

It′s probably for the best that there′s no chance of him getting it up right now.

He brushes his lips against Hannibal's ear. ″But maybe _you_ are to _me_.″

The hitch of breath in Hannibal's throat is the sweetest thing he′s ever heard.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at moorsmist on tumblr and twitter, always glad to know new people!


End file.
